


oh, but you're good to me, baby

by ladybonehollows



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Post S4, this is soft soft soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybonehollows/pseuds/ladybonehollows
Summary: Quentin wants to make Eliot feel good. Eliot wants to give Quentin anything he wants.
Relationships: Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 26
Kudos: 183
Collections: Eliot Waugh's Birthday Spectacular





	oh, but you're good to me, baby

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I know this is a month late, but I've been in editing hell for MHHE for the last month and am now FREE to write sappy birthday blowjobs, hurrah!
> 
> It is I, ohmarqueliot, rebranded! I had to change my username, but I'm still the same (now highkingmariot) across all platforms.
> 
> (Do you ever have things that you wanted to say in the notes but then completely forget them? Oh well. Enjoy the fic!)

Draining the last of his scotch, Eliot floated the crystal cut glass over to the coffee table and returned his arms to one of his favourite places — wrapped around Margo’s waist. Sighing contentedly, she stroked an idle pattern up and down the back of his forearm with idle fingers. The silence that filled the room was one that he had no desire to fill.

It had been so long since they’d had time to just _be_. He had a strange kind of nostalgia for sitting just like this, with his back up against the arm of the couch and Margo curled up between his legs, her head against his chest. In the past, they’d done this all the time, sitting on the sidelines of their own parties to enjoy the atmosphere and celebrate a job well done.

They’d been through too much to need a reason to, now. They were the reason. That was enough.

It had only been an hour since Quentin had gone to bed, and everyone else had started to dwindle away since then until just the two of them remained. He craned his neck to see the clock on the other side of the room, and huffed a laugh to see that it was just after two a.m.. Past Eliot would have been appalled at the thought of calling this his birthday party. A handful of friends around for drinks, and not a touch of scandal. He was an old man at twenty eight.

But thinking about Quentin, wrapped up snug in their bed, made him feel more alive than he’d felt in years.

Or rather, for the first time in years he truly relished being alive.

Margo turned her head, not quite enough for their eyes to meet, but enough to get his attention. “I can _feel_ you thinking. You’re making my skin itch.”

Humming, he rubbed his palm over her arm in apology. “Just remembering the good ol’ days.” He wondered how transparent he was, that Quentin had flat out refused to let him come to bed with him so he would stay up and spend time with Margo instead. His body wasn’t as forgiving of the silly, drunken dancing that they’d engaged in earlier, but this was good, too.

It had been four months since Margo had given him his body back, but the world hadn’t stopped spinning while he’d been trapped. Margo had a kingdom to take back, and then to rule, and they hadn’t had as much time together as he’d had liked. He missed her. He always missed her. “I wish you didn’t have to go back so soon.”

“We have tomorrow. Which is plenty of time for me to convince Quentin that the two of you are coming home with me on Saturday,” she said matter-of-factly.

They’d talked about it. They’d talked about rushing into decisions, and running away from their problems. But he’d recovered from his axe wounds, and Quentin’s magic and his body were both almost fully healed from the damage he’d taken in the mirror realm, and there weren’t so many things keeping them on Earth anymore. Not when the other half of Eliot’s world lived in Fillory, and the other half of Quentin’s was a goddess who didn’t even have to click her fingers to take her to whatever universe she wanted to step into.

But that was for him and Quentin to decide, not for Margo to bully them into. He sighed, twirling her hair around his finger. “Remember when our biggest responsibilities were making sure the bar was stocked and the music spell didn’t fail?”

Pulling his hand out of her hair, Margo twined their fingers together. “No. Our biggest responsibility was educating virgin first years.”

Eliot smiled, thinking of the angsty, flustered boy that had piqued his interest from the moment they’d met. “You’re right. That was of the utmost importance.” He never could have imagined how much he would learn from Quentin in return.

He lifted his glass telekinetically, and then remembered that he’d finished it. Margo’s lay on its side in her lap, also empty. “Want another drink?” he asked, looking around for the bottle.

“No,” she said, sitting up and turning to face him, her legs hanging over his. She set her glass on the couch beside them and reached up to pat his cheek. “I’m going to bed, and you should too. I want you to show me this brunch place Q couldn’t stop talking about earlier.”

“He’s passionate about his banana caramel pancakes,” he laughed, remembering the conversation from earlier and Quentin’s excitement.

“Apparently,” Margo said, but she was smiling too, and he was filled with an overwhelming wave of affection for her. Every minute that they spent together healed another crack inside him, and he… he knew she had her own shit to deal with, a whole country’s shit to deal with, but she was still here. For him.

Catching her hand, he pulled her in, pressing his lips gently against hers. “Thank you,” he said, when she pulled back. For being here. For this unbreakable thing between them.

Margo rolled her eyes, as though she could hear the sappy note of his thoughts. “Get some sleep, loverboy. And if Quentin wakes me up before nine, I’m going to murder him before he gets another bite of his stupid pancakes.”

Eliot let Margo pull him to his feet, and then waved her goodnight with one hand while turning off most of the lights in the loft with the other. His happiness bubbled quietly inside him as he slipped into his bedroom, closing the door behind him quietly in case Quentin was asleep. It was pitch black in the bedroom, and he weighed the possibility of tripping over something in the dark before conjuring a tiny ball of yellow light.

The tightly curled lump underneath the covers didn’t move in reaction to the light, and Eliot hoped that he truly was asleep. Sleep was one of the things that they both struggled with, aching bodies and nightmares combining to keep one or both of them awake on the regular, but Quentin’s eyes had been drooping when he’d kissed him goodnight, so he was hopeful that he was getting some rest.

Eliot stripped down to his underwear as quietly as he could, draping his clothes over the back of the chair in the corner of the room to deal with tomorrow. The air in the bedroom was cool, but Quentin’s body turned the bed into an oven, and he relished the excuse to be close to him. Slipping underneath the covers, he curled around Quentin, wrapping his arm around his waist and pressing right up against his back. His warmth seeped through Eliot’s skin and into his heart, and Eliot pressed his mouth against his shoulder, a silent thank you for letting him hold him like this, for letting him love him.

He lifted his hand from Quentin’s chest to extinguish the light, but before he could Quentin stirred, his body stretching. He started to roll over, pulling Eliot’s arms more fully around him. “No,” Eliot protested, feeling both frustrated at himself for disturbing him after all, and pleased at the way that Quentin burrowed in against him, his face pressing against his neck. “No, you’re asleep.”

He could feel Quentin’s breath against his skin when he sighed. “And you smell nice.”

“I’ve smelled like this all night,” he said, adding tonight’s cologne to his list of Quentin’s favourites.

But Quentin was shaking his head against him. “Mmm. No. You smell like you and like Margo. S’nice.”

Smiling, Eliot pulled him closer, stroking up and down Quentin’s back, his skin soft and warm under his hand. He felt Quentin’s shoulders move as he breathed him in, and was filled with more affection and love for this man than he ever thought he could stand. Turning his head, he kissed Quentin’s temple, endlessly in disbelief that he got to have this.

He trailed his hand down Quentin’s back again, drifting lower almost idly, and laughed quietly when he smoothed his hand over the curve of Quentin’s ass, unhindered by underwear. He didn’t usually sleep completely naked unless they were together. “Did you fall asleep waiting for me, sweetheart?”

Shifting his body closer, Quentin hooked one knee over his leg, and the thin barrier of Eliot’s underwear did nothing to lessen the delightful feeling of their bodies pressed together. “M’not asleep.”

 _You’re also not forming full words_ , Eliot thought fondly. “It’s okay, baby,” he murmured, even as his hand continued to explore his body, captivated by the warmth of his smooth skin. He could feel himself stirring, his body awakening at the thought of whatever Quentin had planned, heightened with the feeling of skin on skin. But he could ignore it. “I’m tired too. We have all the time in the world.”

Quentin made a sound in the back of his throat, a little groan of complaint. He scratched his cheek against the stubble on Eliot’s jaw before turning his head to brush his lips against Eliot’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, before he touched them gently to his lips. Eliot brought his hand up to cup his cheek, smiling into the kiss when Quentin’s lips parted against his. The kiss was sweet and lazy, but thorough, as Quentin licked at the seam of his lips until Eliot parted them to kiss him deeply, and felt Quentin melt against him instantly.

It was so easy, too easy, to give him anything he wanted.

Quentin’s hands found his shoulders, pushing him until he was lying on his back. The laughter that bubbled out of Eliot’s throat was swallowed up when he settled on top of him and kissed him again. Eliot wrapped his arms around him, feeling Quentin growing hard as he rolled his hips slowly down against him.

Pulling back slightly, Quentin kissed his way along Eliot’s jaw. “I wanna make you feel good.”

And… well, Eliot couldn’t deny that he wanted that too — his body was half a second away from reacting to Quentin’s at any given time — but… but the way Quentin moved over him was slow and sleepy and he didn’t want him to think that he had to do this, do anything, just because it was his birthday. “You already make me feel so good.”

“Yeah, but…” Quentin’s lips teased at the skin below his ear as he smoothed his hands up Eliot’s sides. Eliot arched into the touch when he paused to thumb at his nipple before reaching higher to wrap around the back of his neck. “I love you,” he said, and Eliot wasn’t sure if it was an unrelated thought or not, but his voice was full of wonder, as though he couldn’t believe that he actually got to say that, got to let himself feel it, and Eliot could relate.

He’d felt that way for months, for years, for decades. It still felt too good to be true. More than he deserved. But he was learning, step by step, to accept the love that he was freely offered. When Quentin turned his head back to kiss his mouth again, he let himself fall into it, kissing him back with all of the hunger that was simmering underneath his skin. Fitting his hands over the curve of his ass, he helped Quentin grind down against him, stealing the gasp he made in response.

He wanted to get rid of the thin layer of his underwear from between them, wanted to feel the slide of Quentin’s body bare against his own, but it also felt so good just to move together like this, listening to the quiet sighs that escaped from Quentin’s lips every few seconds. When Quentin broke the kiss, he was gasping. “Please,” he groaned, dropping one hand to clutch at Eliot’s hip, his fingernails biting into his skin. “Please, I —”

“What do you want, baby?”

“I want…” His fingers flexed against Eliot’s hip, like he was trying to ask for something without words. Quentin kissed him again right as he pushed up onto his knees, and Eliot moaned into his mouth when he snaked a hand between them and cupped him through his underwear. “Let me…”

He doesn’t know exactly what he was asking for, but he’d give Quentin anything he could ever want. “Yeah, yeah, Q —” Quentin started to lean back, and Eliot leaned up, holding the kiss until he moved too far out of reach. When he sank back down against the pillow, Quentin dropped his head to swipe his tongue over his nipple, but it wasn’t until he pressed his mouth down along his sternum that Eliot realised what he was doing. “Fuck, Quentin.”

His breath caught as Quentin sucked at the skin below his hip bone. Eliot felt him shift lower still, and looked down to see him resting his head on the top of his thigh, turning it to fucking nuzzle his groin through his underwear. He wanted to let Quentin take the lead, but he also wanted to just have his hands on him always. Quentin made a deep, low sound when he reached down to card his fingers through his hair, turning his face into his hand. Eliot cupped his face, stroking his thumb over the apple of his cheek as Quentin tugged at the waistband of his underwear.

Reluctantly, he dropped his hand so that he could shift his weight to his elbows, lifting his hips up so that Quentin could pull his underwear down his thighs, dropping back down so he could kick them off from around his ankles. Quentin’s hands on his legs were firm as he parted them, and Eliot let his legs fall open eagerly so that Quentin could slot between them. He looked up at him, his eyes heavy and dark, before dropping his head, and Eliot was eternally grateful that he hadn’t extinguished the light so that he could watch Quentin as he angled Eliot’s dick up with gentle fingers and wrapped his lips around the head of his cock.

Usually, Quentin was hungry and desperate and messy with it. It was overwhelming, both for how it felt and for knowing how much it worked him up, how thoroughly he loved doing it, how much Quentin got off on drawing pleasure from others. Just like Eliot, who could have spent all night touching Quentin just to watch his pleasure.

Tonight, though… tonight he was slow about it, licking and sucking around just the head, teasing Eliot as he unravelled under the warmth of Quentin’s mouth. He hummed low in his throat, as he took him in deeper, and the rush that flooded Eliot was all-consuming with the feeling of his wet mouth so tender on him.

It was a battle to keep his hips still, his body’s instincts for _more_ fighting against his worry about choking him or overwhelming him while he was like this. Languidly, Quentin took him in deeper, his lips tightening around him slowly until Eliot was trembling, and it was hard, so hard to keep still with the warmth of his mouth so inviting.

When he pulled back, Quentin turned to rest his cheek on Eliot’s thigh, stroking him slowly with one hand while he paused to breathe. Eliot’s own attempt at a steadying breath caught in his throat when Quentin’s hand tightened on him, his thumb worrying underneath the head. _Fuck_. Lifting his head, his mouth went dry at the sight of Quentin watching his hand move over Eliot’s dick. He looked _captivated_. Eliot wanted to devour him. “Come up here,” he said, his voice thick. “Wanna get you off too.”

Quentin shook his head, turning his face against his thigh. “After,” he said, and then pushed himself up to lean over him once more, and — and Eliot moaned when he took him back into his mouth. It was like he’d finally woken up. He started sucking him with intent, taking him in deeper, pausing at the head to wreck him with his tongue, dropping one hand to massage his balls, every brush of his fingers sending a thrill through him. Quentin moaned around the head of his cock before sinking deep deep over him, and _oh fuck_ , he wasn’t going to last much longer when he was like this.

He reached down to touch Quentin’s head but found his hand instead, and when Quentin twisted their fingers together he felt it like he was squeezing his heart instead of his hand. How was this _real?_ How was it possible that he could have someone like Quentin, someone who would treat him so tenderly, that Quentin loved him so much and that he could _let him?_

He came with Quentin’s name on his lips, spilling into the perfect warmth of his mouth. His whole body shuddered when his orgasm rolled through him, tethered by every point that their bodies touched, squeezing his hand so hard that they shook together. Quentin’s mouth gentled on him when he relaxed heavily onto the bed, sending shivers through him as he continued to lap at him until he started to soften, catching every drop of him. He felt something brush against his knuckles — Quentin’s thumb — and loosened his grip. “Quentin,” he breathed, and heard a long, satisfied sigh against his thigh.

Using their joined hands, Eliot pulled Quentin up until he was straddling him again, his thighs firm over his hips, his chest a warm, familiar weight against his own. His cock, hard against Eliot’s belly. Reaching up between them, he cupped Quentin’s face with both hands, kissing him soft soft soft, smiling when Quentin’s lips pulled intently at his. He swallowed Quentin’s whimper when he rocked his hips down against Eliot’s almost absentmindedly. “Tell me what you want, darling,” Eliot said, pushing his hair back out of his face.

Quentin shook his head, and then turned his face into Eliot’s hand, kissing his palm. “I got what I want already," he said, smiling like he knew how much of a dork he was being, how like he knew how much Eliot loved it, loved him. How was it possible to love someone so much? Leaning up, Eliot slipped his hand around the back of his head as he kissed him, deeper this time. He was soft full warm content but the way that it made Quentin react, Quentin who was rutting incessantly against his stomach, the way it had him gasping and shivering... all he wanted was to have him in his arms like this for the rest of his life.

“Touch me, please El, I —” Quentin broke off with a moan when Eliot wrapped his hand around him. He stroked his thumb over the tip, smearing precum down his shaft, stroking him long and slow. “Oh — oh, Eliot...” He dropped his forehead against Eliot’s shoulder, and Eliot immediately brought his other hand up to sink into his hair, holding him close.

He could tell that Quentin was already close, and picked up the pace of his hand, feeling a rush all through him from the way Quentin gasped against his skin. But he wanted… “Look at me.” Pulling Quentin back, he cupped his face again, forcing his eyes up. They were half closed, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed. He looked wrecked. He would never get over this, this powerful feeling of making Quentin lose himself like this. “Come for me, Q,” he said, and Quentin — Quentin _did_ , his body stiffening, his back arching, a low, delicious cry falling from his lips as he spilled onto Eliot’s hand and over his stomach, his eyes widening almost in surprise but… but didn't leave Eliot's for even a second, and that might have been the hottest thing that he’d ever seen, _fuck_.

Quentin slumped against him, his skin hot and flush everywhere that it touched him, and Eliot managed to shoot off a quick cleaning spell before wrapping his arms around him. Holding him secure, he rolled them so they were on their sides facing each other, and Quentin immediately squirelled in against him, just like he had been before. His breathing started to slow, in and out in time with Eliot's hand as he smoothed it up and down his back, tracing the knobs of his spine with his fingertips. Letting out a long sigh, Quentin turned his lips lightly against his neck. “Now go to sleep,” Quentin murmured.

Chuckling, Eliot pressed his lips against Quentin's forehead. “Yes, sir."

Letting out a surprised little laugh of his own, Quentin shuffled around for a few seconds, only elbowing Eliot in the stomach a little as he tried to get more comfortable and then ended up in just about the same position that he'd started in. Eliot settled his arms around him again, swimming in the bubble of warmth and happiness that was brought on by a good night, a great orgasm, and _Quentin._

“I hope you had a good day," Question said softly.

“I had the _best_ day,” he said, and was surprised by how much he meant it. Quentin’s breathing had already starting to even out, and he stroked his hand through his hair, the soft strands between his fingers grounding him. He never could have imagined that these were the things that would make him happy.

Or maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe he just hadn’t ever believed that this was a thing he could have. He still couldn’t believe it, that Quentin wanted him, that _he_ was the place that Quentin wanted to call home.

“Love you,” Quentin breathed, half asleep.

 _Oh_. It filled him up until he was bursting with it, until he was overflowing, and he never wanted it to end. “I love you, Q,” he said, and the last thing he saw before he cut off the light spell was the smile on Quentin’s face.


End file.
